


Mirrored

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: M/M, Not Britpicked, POV First Person, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: In the aftermath of a mirror spell, Peter fails to think through the implications of some of his habits.





	

I really should have thought it through a little further but it didn’t occur to me until I’d already been partly through my nightly routine. Nightingale had suggested the the effect of the mirror spell would wear off within a few hours, and it had a bit. It had been notable through dinner, when I got thirsty Nightingale absently drank half his glass of water and the feeling went away.

On the walk home I was surprisingly cold so apparently there’s a reason Nightingale goes for so many layers when we head out of an evening. I’d pondered a bit what Nightingale might be feeling from my end, but it’s had to determine what might not be normal for someone else. Anyways, I had my hand on my own dick having a perfectly nice time when I thought to wonder if that meant a floor and two doors away Nightingale was hard. At that point it seemed like it’d be a right shame to leave him that way. 

Knowing Nightingale he wouldn’t even do anything about it, and it was already going to be awkward to look him in the eye the next day. All I’m saying is it’s not entirely my fault. My routine is a wank and then sleep and so I thought, well I’m already almost there, might as well finish the job. Only magic is tricky, and Nightingale had never even intimated that sex magic might actually be a thing. So there I am, shifting from my leisurely pre-bed stroke to something a bit more furious (nicely slicked hand and strong grip, better to get it over with) when I realize that someone else’s fingers are moving on an opposing rhythm. I just about jumped out of my own bed.

Obviously there was no one else there, not nearly enough room either, staring down at my own hand grabbing myself like an idiot and feeling those fingers twist just under the head deliciously. They were long, almost feeling cool on my fevered skin and between that and the fact that they weren’t there it was pretty damn obvious who they belonged too. I’m sure Nightingale had noticed I’d stopped jerking it, but perhaps he assumed I’d already came and he was just finishing himself off, or maybe he was distracted by his own pleasure. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to let him have all the fun, though I’m fairly convinced that I might have come, hands free, from the echo of his touch. So I went back at myself, really busting for it this time because there’s not a lot like imagining the elegance and intensity of your boss to making getting off a furtive and frantic event. 

When I started moving again, I could almost swear I felt the breath of his cursing on my neck. It didn’t take either of us much longer after that. It’s a romantic cliche to say that we came together, but with all the magic involved it was kind of a foregone conclusion. I honestly couldn’t say which of us tipped over first. There was a surreal moment where I was honestly unclear which hand and rhythm was mine, though obviously I could do a visual double check to know which one was my hand. I had my eyes closed, Nightingale stretched across his bed before me, like I was looking at him and not the backs of my own eyelids. In a rucked up white undershirt and loose fitting pants pushed down around his knees. I couldn’t stop staring at him through my closed eyelids, the gasping contours of his face while he came, even as my own orgasm tore through me. 

Some part of me figured that perhaps this would break the spell, like in erotic fantasy fiction, once you’ve gotten off you’re good to go and all that. Only then we both released our pricks at the same time and wiped our hands on the sheet to our left. Which, while that is pretty straightforward Peter Grant behavior I was surprised Nightingale hadn’t gone for like, an appropriately placed tissue box, or handkerchief in the bedside table or something.

I was thinking about that so much that when we both rolled onto our left side I didn’t immediately consider even though I never sleep on my left side, only on my right, and it’s a hot night in hell when I don’t sleep under the blankets. So maybe it wasn’t just un-Nightingale movements happening here. I carefully thought about reaching out and tapping ‘shave and a hair cut, two bits’ on the headboard and then did it. Nightingale didn’t mimic me, but then again he was also asleep. I opened my eyes. I was feeling extremely tired and also mildly panicky and alarmed, but I crawled under my covers and devised to deal with it in the morning. Firmly on my right side, I closed my eyes and was asleep before I could even contemplate how I might broach the topic in the morning. 


End file.
